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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24725815">Die Another Day</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/hjork/pseuds/hjork'>hjork</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Spies Are Forever - Talkfine/Tin Can Brothers</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe, And they were partners, Angst, Canon Gay Relationship, Canon Relationships, Canon Rewrite, Curtwen, Friends to Lovers, It's a Musical!, M/M, Musicals, Not Canon Compliant, Period-Typical Homophobia, Slow Burn, Spies, Spies &amp; Secret Agents, Starkid - Freeform, Tin Can Bros - Freeform, i watched this show three days ago and i've been obsessed with it since, the boys are in love with each other but don't know how to deal with their feelings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-06-14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-06-29</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-04 02:01:44</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>4</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>8,784</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24725815</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/hjork/pseuds/hjork</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>What if Curt didn't leave Owen for dead? and how much will that affect the outcome of their story?</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Owen Carvour/Agent Curt Mega</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>18</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>79</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. It's Time to Do or Die</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>More chapters to come, current update schedule is every Sunday! :)</p><p>Spotify playlist here: <a href="https://open.spotify.com/playlist/42JQCVrLPMuei5zQYSXgMb?si=hUD6yUvnTGyq4WiHU0LAYQ">spies are forever // curtwen</a></p><p>content warnings: Nazis, concentration camps, period typical homophobia, some violence (bc they're spies)</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The first charge went off and the warehouse shook. The blast shocked the agents surrounding them and they took their chance, elbowing and kicking their way out. They didn’t wait to see the looks on the faces of the enemy agents as they sprinted towards the stairs they’d come in through. Several shots rang out as they sprinted up the metal stairwell and Curt could have sworn a bullet whizzed past his ear, singeing his hair.</p><p>Owen was only a step ahead of him and he glanced back, his normally composed features strewn with exhilaration and a touch of panic. “Building’s gonna blow, Mega, what’s the plan?”</p><p>“The plan is to survive!”</p><p>Another explosion shook the room, filling the room with smoke and ash as the fire spread. Curt glanced up and watched as part of the roof caved in, smashing on the concrete floor and opening up a patch of starlight.</p><p>“Ah!” Not watching where he was going, his shoe caught on the metal stair and he tripped, throwing his hands out and crashing into Owen.  </p><p>Owen stumbled under his weight, reaching back and grasping his arm to steady him. “Careful, love,” he said. Curt steadied himself, and in the second he took to catch his breath, he saw out the corner of his eye an enemy agent across the room, aiming through the smoke.</p><p>“Get down!” he yelled, shoving Owen to the ground as bullets flew over the spot they had just been standing. He turned around and fired in return, and heard the satisfying cry of pain when his bullet met its mark and the enemy fell.</p><p>Helping Owen to his feet, he held his watch up to his mouth. “Barb! Do you copy? We need a lift!”</p><p>“I can have a car there in five. Stay safe, agents!”</p><p>Owen was already taking the lead, taking the steps two at a time as they raced towards the landing. Curt was right behind, and he watched almost in slow motion as Owen’s next step landed on the discarded banana peel, his foot sliding out from under him as his body careened forward, over the edge of the stairs, falling through the air. Curt lunged forward, but his hand closed around empty air. Owen’s mouth opened in surprise and for an instant, his eyes met Curt’s as he passed the first story landing. Curt could only watch as Owen’s body hit the ground, limbs splayed unnaturally around him, eyes closed.</p><p>Curt opened and closed his mouth, unable to scream, unable to cry, unable to breath, his knuckles clutching the stair rail so hard his fingers were going numb. A blast shook the stairs, the fire ballooning across half the room.</p><p>“Curt! That building’s going up in smoke! Where the hell are you?”</p><p>His eyes went to the watch. <em>You’re a spy, Mega, snap out of it and do your fucking job. </em>It was almost as if he could hear Cynthia in his head, reminding him of his job.</p><p>He had minutes, maybe seconds, before the walls collapsed around him.</p><p>“Barb, I…”</p><p>He looked down at Owen, and in the red glow of the fire consuming the building, he saw his eyes flutter open. His heart caught in his chest. <em>He’s still alive. </em></p><p>“…I need some more time!”</p><p>“We’re on a red curb, Mega! I can’t stay parked here forever!”</p><p>Curt wrenched his hands from the railing and ran down the stairs, stumbling on every other step, before he finally leapt to the floor, stumbling towards his friend, his partner, his…</p><p>Owen’s face was contorted in pain, and his breathing was halting, gasping. Curt knelt next to him, checking for external wounds. There was a rather worrying puddle of blood spreading from the back of his head, and when Owen finally opened his eyes, they were wide, unfocused.</p><p>“Curt?” His name was like a whisper on Owen’s lips, and his eyes squeezed shut again in pain.</p><p><em>Fucking shit in hell, how are you going to get out of this one, Mega?</em>  Sweat started beading on Curt’s forehead. The fire was growing, and the heat was becoming unbearable. He clenched his jaw, forcing his muscles to move, forcing words out of his mouth.</p><p>“It’s going to be okay. I’m going to get you out of here. Can you move?”</p><p>Owen opened his mouth but didn’t answer. Curt slid an arm under his shoulders, trying to support his head, as he helped him into a sitting position. He heard a crash as something collapsed on the other side of the room, but he tried not to think about the ceiling caving in on them in flames.</p><p>“Come on, come on, stay with me, Carvour.”</p><p>Owen coughed, convulsing, and droplets of blood fell on his shirt. Curt swore.</p><p>“I need you to put your arm around me, can you do that?”</p><p>Owen nodded, almost imperceptibly, and with an extraordinary amount of effort, Curt wrapped Owen’s arm around his neck, his own arms snaking around Owen’s torso.</p><p>“Fuck,” Owen gasped, “Ribs.”</p><p>Probably broken. Curt repositioned his hands.</p><p>“Can you stand?”</p><p>“Prob’ly not.” Owen’s face was still tight with pain. “Leave me and go.”</p><p>“Stop it,” Curt said. “I’m not going anywhere without you. I’m going to lift on three okay?” Curt braced himself, lifting his left hand to hold onto Owen’s left, still draped around his neck.</p><p>“One,” he gently squeezed Owen’s hand.</p><p>“Two,” Owen squeezed back, clutching Curt’s hand so hard it hurt.</p><p>It almost hurt Curt more that this was the most contact they’d had in weeks, and despite the situation, Curt was grateful for the excuse to hold Owen, to touch him without worrying he was overstepping.</p><p>“Three.” It was now or never.</p><p>Curt staggered to his feet, supporting Owen’s weight. Immediately, Owen’s left leg buckled, and he slumped against Curt. They would never make it back up the stairs. He glanced around desperately for another way out. The main door was already consumed by flames.</p><p>“’m not going to make it,” Owen said, his words slurring together.</p><p>“Shut up,” Curt said, noticing a clear path to another door only 50 feet away, and he staggered towards the green Exit sign still glowing through the smoke. “You brits are too damn selfless for your own good.”</p><p>One foot in front of the other. He tripped over debris on the ground and it jolted his body. Owen’s fingers slipped from his hand and he desperately grappled for fabric as Owen collapsed.</p><p>“Stay with me!”</p><p>“I’m sorry Curt. I…” Owen’s words were lost as crackly static sounded from his watch, and Barb’s voice cut through. “Curt, Owen! Where are you two?”</p><p>The man in his arms went limp. <em>Fuck.</em></p><p>“On…our way.” Curt grunted, lifting Owen’s body again. His head was slumped forward, his limbs uncooperative and unmoving.</p><p><em>I can’t do this</em>. His eyes were stinging with smoke and with shame and he let out a sob.</p><p>
  <em>Curt Mega, are you a spy or aren’t you? Do the job. </em>
</p><p>He gritted his teeth, wrapping his arms under Owen’s armpits and clasping them together around his chest, and started hauling him backwards towards the door, his feet dragging in their wake.</p><p>40 feet to go. The acrid smoke was so thick he could barely make out the green glowing letters as he glanced over his shoulder.</p><p>30 feet. His lungs were burning, his fingers slipping.</p><p>20 feet. He couldn’t see through the smoke. The tears were from the smoke, just from the smoke stinging his eyes. No other reason. <em>This is all your fault, Mega.</em></p><p>10 feet. The door behind burst open. Through the smoke, he couldn’t tell if the silhouette was an ally or an enemy, friend or foe.</p><p>“Curt Mega?”  </p><p>He stumbled backwards, letting go of Owen to pull out his gun.</p><p>“Who are you?” he demanded, cocking his weapon, one arm still wrapped around his partner protectively.</p><p>“Call me Susan,” the man said, stepping forward. “I’m on your side. Barb’s waiting.”</p><p>Curt relaxed, holstering his gun. “We need to get him out of here, he needs medical attention.”</p><p>Together they half carried, half-dragged Owen to the waiting car. As soon as the doors were closed, Barb hit the gas.</p><p>Curt leant over Owen in the backseat, feeling his wrist desperately. “Barb I’m not getting a pulse.”</p><p>Barb didn’t tear her eyes from the road as she weaved in and out of cars, heading deeper into the metropolis.  </p><p>“Are you checking his wrist? Try the jugular.”</p><p>Curt hesitated for a moment before pressing the pads of his fingers against Owen’s neck. It was soft, and warm, and he felt the weak thrum of a heartbeat below the skin. The intimacy of it probably would have made him blush if he weren’t so caught up in his relief.</p><p>He let out a breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding. “He’s alive.”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. The Coldest Goodbye</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The sound of footsteps approaching pulled Curt from his restless stupor, and he opened his eyes to see a rather bored-looking receptionist approaching the chair in the waiting room that he had been slumped in for the past three hours. Instinctively, he moved his hand in reach of his holster.</p>
<p>“You Curt Mega?”</p>
<p>“What’s it matter to you?”</p>
<p>“Phone call for you,” she said. “Private number. You can take it at the phone booth down the hall, on your left.”</p>
<p>“Thanks,” he mumbled.</p>
<p>Curt pulled himself off the chair and smoothed his crumbled shirt. The nurses had refused to let him into the operating room, and he’d watched them wheel Owen, unresponsive and bloody, Oxygen mask covering half his face, behind closed doors labeled “SURGERY”.</p>
<p>One of the nurses had shooed him into another room and taken an alcohol swab, ointment, and bandages to his wounds. He hadn’t realized it, but his hands were pocked with burns from falling embers, and now that the adrenaline had dissipated, his muscles ached and his lungs screamed with each breath. He’d refused an Oxygen mask or stitches, despite the nurse’s dubious looks, and she’d left him there in the waiting room with a bottle of water and instructions to take it easy for a couple days.</p>
<p>Barb and Susan had left almost immediately to contact A.S.S. and locate a safehouse, and he’d been stuck there with only his thoughts to entertain him. They were not very happy thoughts. He kept replaying the moment Owen slipped and fell, the image of his body hitting the ground burned in his mind. It was torture to sit there helpless, not knowing if Owen was dead or alive. </p>
<p>Curt picked up the phone. He knew who was calling almost immediately, because insults that dirty could only come from one person: his boss.</p>
<p>“Curt Mega, you absolute dumbfucking moron. You pompous, incompetent dick. I don’t even want to talk to you. If I were there right now, I WOULD kill you myself.”</p>
<p>“Cynthia--,” he started, but she cut him off.</p>
<p>“Don’t you ‘Cynthia’ me. Do you know how hard it’s going to be to try to explain to MI6 how one of their best agents may or may not have gotten killed because he was on an American assignment? I’m flying over first thing tomorrow to clean up YOUR mess. You better have an explanation for me by then, or your head WILL be on a platter.”</p>
<p>There was a click and the line went dead.</p>
<p>~~~~</p>
<p>Two hours later, Barb found him, still sitting in the same chair.</p>
<p>“Curt,” she whined. “Have you eaten anything? You look terrible.”  </p>
<p>“I haven’t slept in two days, I failed my mission, I’m about to be fired, and I probably killed my partner and best friend. I feel worse than I look.”</p>
<p>“Let me at least buy you something at the cafeteria. I heard they have one of those fancy new microwaves!”</p>
<p>He sighed and stood. “Only if we can stop at the bar on the way.”</p>
<p>“They don’t have bars in hospitals,” she chided as they walked down the hall.</p>
<p>He paused in his step and reached into his inner jacket pocket, remembering what he’d stowed there earlier. He pulled out a flask and took a long pull from it. “Good thing I brought my own, then.”</p>
<p>Ten minutes later, his flask was empty, though to her credit, Barb had forced him to eat half of a sad, dry deli sandwich and drink a glass of orange juice.   </p>
<p>When they returned to the waiting room, the receptionist had another message for Curt. “Your friend’s doctor would like to talk to you. Please wait in room A12, down that hall on your right. He’ll be with you shortly.”</p>
<p>Curt’s heart dropped to the pit of his stomach. “Oh god.”</p>
<p>Barb followed him down the hall, nearly running to keep up with his long gait. “Don’t assume the worst, maybe they patched him up and he’s totally fine.  It’s like Schroedinger’s…Owen. I, uh, nevermind.” She trailed off.</p>
<p>Curt shoved open the door marked A12 and stalked into the room. “Even if he’s not dead, which is a big if, he’s never going to forgive me.”</p>
<p>She stepped into the room. “It wasn’t your fault, I’m sure he won’t blame you.”</p>
<p>Curt scoffed and reached for his flask, emptying the last drop into his mouth. She was wrong about one thing: it was undeniably his fault that Owen got hurt. And Owen knew it too. Even if Owen was alive, and even if Owen forgave him, he didn’t think he could ever forgive himself. He’d fucked up, and he’d fucked up <em>bad</em>.</p>
<p>“I hope Cynthia fires me.”</p>
<p>“Why?”</p>
<p>He lowered his head into his hands. “I can’t do this job anymore.”</p>
<p>Barb reached out and hesitantly patted his back, before pulling her hand away and awkwardly staring at her shoes in silence.</p>
<p>A few minutes later, a tall Black man in a white coat stepped through the door.</p>
<p>“You’re the friends of Owen Carvour? I’m Doctor Thompson.” He held his hand out amiably and shook hands with Barb, and then Curt.</p>
<p>“How is he?” Curt blurted out. His nails were digging crescents into his palms.</p>
<p>Doctor Thompson gave a gentle smile. “He’s alive.”</p>
<p>“Oh thank god,” Barb exclaimed, grasping Curt’s hand and smiling at him.</p>
<p>“The surgery was successful, but recovery won’t be easy. He has two broken ribs, a collapsed lung, a concussion, and a shattered tibia. He’s also got seven stitches on the back of his head.”</p>
<p>Barb let out a puff of breath.</p>
<p>“Can we see him?”</p>
<p>“He’s currently sedated and resting. His vitals are stable, but he’s got a long road still ahead of him. You’re welcome to come back when visiting hours open at 10am, but I don’t anticipate he’ll be very responsive.”</p>
<p>Curt checked his watch. It was 5 in the morning. He’d been up all night. He couldn’t remember when he’d last slept.</p>
<p>Doctor Thompson pulled a business card from a stack on the counter and scribbled something on the back.</p>
<p>“This is his room number. I only work night shifts, so there’ll be a different doctor here later. If you have any questions for me specifically, my phone number’s on the card. For now, I suggest you go home and get some rest.”</p>
<p>He held out the card and Curt took it before Barb could blink, holding onto it like his life depended on it.</p>
<p>~~~~</p>
<p>When Owen finally drifted out of anesthetic sleep and opened his eyes, the first thing he saw was Curt.  He was sitting in a chair by the window, fidgeting with his hands, picking at scabs. His hair was matted, and he sported a five o’clock shadow that only made his cheeks look more hollowed. He’d changed clothes since the last time he saw him.</p>
<p><em>When he dragged you out through the fire and the flames, and like a sodding idiot, you told him you loved him. </em>It was the last thing he could remember before blacking out. “<em>I’m sorry Curt. I love you.”</em></p>
<p>Curt was wearing a pale blue T-shirt and dark trousers, and Owen couldn’t help admire the way the fabric sat snuggly against his muscles. He closed his eyes again, mentally scolding himself.<em> You can’t have thoughts like that. Your feelings will only get you hurt. </em></p>
<p>Being in love with his partner complicated everything. It complicated his anger at Curt for his ineptitude, his intoxicating ego. Not to mention that his feelings were unreciprocated.</p>
<p>It was Curt who’d made the bet. “<em>Think we can do it in five?”</em> It was Curt who carelessly left the banana peel on the stairs, who gambled with his life like it was a cheap poker chip. It was Curt who made him vulnerable, who made him slip. Owen was the better spy, he was cautious, calculating, charming. The perfect weapon.</p>
<p>But hadn’t he goaded Curt on? <em>“make it four.”</em> Hadn’t he let the interrogation drag on until the last minute, toying with Curt, toying with the Russian? Hadn’t Curt protected him from enemy fire? Hadn’t he pulled him from a burning building?</p>
<p>
  <em>Curt is the reason you needed saving to begin with. You’ve always been stronger on your own. Don’t let love complicate this any longer. </em>
</p>
<p>He steeled himself and opened his eyes again. Curt was still lost in his own thoughts.</p>
<p>“You look terrible, Mega.” He meant it to be cocky, but his voice was weaker than he remembered it, raspy and soft.</p>
<p>Curt startled and looked up. His expression was unreadable, guarded. “Owen.”</p>
<p>“I see you made it out all right.”</p>
<p>Curt gave him a weak smile that looked more like a grimace.</p>
<p>“What, the great spy, Agent Curt Mega doesn’t have something smart to say?”</p>
<p>He looked out the window. Owen was finding it hard to read his expressions. “It’s just Curt Mega now. Not Agent anymore.”</p>
<p>“Cynthia finally had enough? She fired you, then?” To be quite fair, he deserved it.</p>
<p>Curt looked back at him and took a breath, unable to meet his gaze. “No,” he said. “I quit.”</p>
<p>Owen frowned. Quitting the secret service wasn’t that cut and dry. Once a spy, always a spy.</p>
<p>“What do you mean, you <em>quit</em>? You know what they say when you start the job. Spies are forever.”</p>
<p>Curt looked down at his hands and stared picking at his scabs again.</p>
<p>“Mega, you pledge your <em>life</em> to this line of work. You don’t just get to abandon it if you fancy a vacation.”</p>
<p>Owen was getting angry. He knew Curt could tell, too, because the peeping on the machines was getting faster. A headache started pressing against his temples.</p>
<p>“I <em>mean</em>, that I <em>quit</em>,” Curt said, pressing his palms into his knees, trying to keep his fingers from shaking. Owen wouldn’t have noticed if he didn’t know Curt as well as he did. It made something inside him ache to realize just how close they had gotten.</p>
<p>“I handed in my badge and gun to Cynthia this morning. I’m going to live with my mom.”   </p>
<p>“You can’t just abandon--” Owen started to talk, but he started coughing and couldn’t stop. His head was throbbing. The light was too bright. <em>You can’t just abandon me like that. </em>Curt stood and walked to the door. He paused with his hand on the handle, and turned and finally looked Owen in the eyes.</p>
<p>“I’m sorry, Owen,” he said, and then he was out the door.</p>
<p>“You’re a goddamn coward, Mega!” Owen screamed after him, his throat raw and his voice hoarse, but the door clicked shut, and he was alone.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I was going to post each week on Sunday but I forgot to last night. My bad! I'll TRY to be semi-consistent from here on out.</p>
<p>Leave kudos or a comment and maybe I'll be more motivated ;)</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Spy Again</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Just so you are forewarned, this chapter contains references to period-typical homophobia. It is relevant to the plot, and I don’t use slurs. There’s a great Youtube video I’ll put below that I highly recommend watching because it will provide context for the rest of this storyline. It gives a good background on LGBT spies in the Cold War era and how that relates to Owen and Curt Mega in SAF. </p>
<p>  <a href="https://youtu.be/OYAbmbKoaqc">Spies Are Forever Decoded</a></p>
<p>EDIT: i figured out how to add a hyperlink !</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Boston, New Jersey - 1961</p>
<p>
  <span class="u">Four years later</span>
</p>
<p>Curt walked up to the door of his apartment and fished around in his pocket for the key ring with one hand as he balanced a bag of groceries in the other. Inside, the phone started to ring.</p>
<p>“Figures,” he muttered, checking his other pocket. He glanced down at the lock. Something was off. He could have sworn there were a few new scratches around the keyhole. And why was his doormat crooked?</p>
<p>Times like this was when he wished he still carried a gun. Silently, he set the grocery bag down next to the door.</p>
<p>Inside, the phone went to voicemail and stopped ringing.</p>
<p>He tested the door handle. It was unlocked. Slowly, he pushed it open.</p>
<p>The room was fairly dark, but he could still see that someone was sitting on his couch, silhouetted by the evening light coming through the window.</p>
<p>“Who are you? And what the hell are you doing in my apartment?”</p>
<p>The figure didn’t reply, just crossed his legs and raised one arm behind his head. <em>Lounging. This intruder was lounging on his couch. </em></p>
<p>“Look, buddy,” Curt started, but the phone started ringing again, interrupting him. Not taking his eyes off the couch, he took a step towards the kitchen, where the phone was.</p>
<p>“If you know what’s good for you, you won’t answer that.”</p>
<p>Curt froze in his tracks. That voice. Male, British. Cool, collected, and self-assured.</p>
<p>“Close the door. We need to talk.”</p>
<p>Despite himself, Curt gave the door a push. The lock clicked.</p>
<p>A gun cocked.</p>
<p>“No funny business.”</p>
<p>Curt closed his eyes, counted to three, and exhaled. His shrink had recommended it as a way to help calm him down when he felt like he was losing control.</p>
<p>Sometimes it worked. This time it didn’t.</p>
<p>The phone rang again. Curt slammed his palm against the wall, hitting the light switch and a yellow glow illuminated the room.</p>
<p>Owen sat on the couch, calm as could be, gun in hand, not aimed at Curt, but cradled casually. The message was clear. He had the upper hand. He was in control of the situation.</p>
<p>“What. The hell. Are you doing. In my apartment?” Curt managed to speak through gritted teeth, punctuating his sentence by clenching and unclenching his fists.</p>
<p>His former partner didn’t answer immediately. He glanced around the room, taking in the bare walls, the empty bottles of liquor on the table, the stack of unopened mail piling up next to the door.</p>
<p>The phone rang again.</p>
<p>Curt raised his hands in exasperation and stepped again towards the kitchen. “Look whoever this is very clearly wants to talk to me, so if you don’t mind, I’m just going to answer the phone.”</p>
<p>“Wait,” said Owen, a hint of desperation in his voice. Curt stopped. “The gents on the other end of that line? They want you to spy again.”</p>
<p>He shook his head. “I’m not going back. It’s been four years and I can’t--.”</p>
<p>“I know. Don’t answer the phone.”</p>
<p>“Why, so there won’t be any witnesses when you shoot me?”</p>
<p>Owen chuckled, but it seemed almost…sad. “I’m not going to kill you, Mega.”</p>
<p>Curt eyed him suspiciously. “If you’re not here to recruit me, and you’re not here to kill me, why are you here?”</p>
<p>“I’m here to ask a personal favor.”</p>
<p>“And you need a gun to do it?”</p>
<p>Owen shrugged, disarming the weapon and holstering it. “I needed assurance that you wouldn’t just run away again.”</p>
<p>Shame washed over him like an ice bath, drenching him down to his toes. He couldn’t meet Owen’s eyes, so he focused on a small spider that was crawling across a magazine left on the coffee table.</p>
<p>“You don’t understand. I couldn’t let you, or, uh, I mean anyone, get hurt again. You were my…partner, and I let you down. I feel so guilty, every single day.”</p>
<p>He knew he was rambling, potentially admitting to things he’d kept locked in his chest for years, but now that he’d started, he couldn’t stop.</p>
<p>“It was all my fault and running away might not have been the best answer, but I couldn’t see any other way to protect—” he glanced up and their eyes met for a half-second. “…never mind, I just…I’m sorry, Owen. I’m sorry.”</p>
<p>“I accept your apology.”</p>
<p>“You do?” The disbelief in his voice was evident.</p>
<p>“I’m not a monster, Mega. I’m not the type to hold one mistake against you for the rest of your life.”</p>
<p>Curt looked up and their eyes met again. This time, Owen was the one to break contact.</p>
<p>“Besides,” he added, as he looked at a spot on the farther wall. “I could never hate you.”</p>
<p>Curt was slightly taken aback. He’d expected anger, a grudge kept for years. Kindness was…almost unsettling. He started fidgeting with his fingers, pushing at his cuticles. The burns that dotted his hands after the fire had faded to shiny pink scars.</p>
<p>“I, um, never thanked you properly.” Owen cleared his throat and Curt looked back up. “For saving my life.”</p>
<p>“It was my own fault you needed saving,” he said. “I just wish I could make it up to you.”</p>
<p>A frown crossed Owen’s features. “Back that favor I was asking you about, love.”</p>
<p>Curt startled at the use of Owen’s old slang. It was too familiar, too…painful. He tried to rein in his emotions, all those unresolved feelings he had repressed years ago.</p>
<p>“What do you want?” He asked. It was straight to the point, curt even.</p>
<p>“I need your…assistance. Your skills, as it were. One mission is all I ask.”</p>
<p>His eyes widened. “You better not be suggesting what I think you’re saying.”</p>
<p>“Don’t deny it. You miss it. The exhilaration, the thrill of a chase!”</p>
<p>“No. No, no no. I’m <em>done</em>.”</p>
<p>“Come on, Mega. It’ll be fun. I can’t imagine you have very much fun in your life here. You work, what, as a clerk at the grocery store? And drink yourself into oblivion every night?”</p>
<p>Curt shook his head. “That’s beside the point.”</p>
<p>“No, that’s exactly the point. Your life is meaningless here, your talents wasted, your days long and uneventful. I’m offering excitement, adventure even! Taking down a giant villainous syndicate named after a Greek monster, what could be more intriguing than that?”</p>
<p>He looked up curiously. “Which Greek monster?”</p>
<p>“Chimera.”</p>
<p>Interesting.</p>
<p>Something else was bugging him though.</p>
<p>“Why can’t MI6 handle this? Why come to me? You just told me to turn <em>down</em> an offer to spy again.”</p>
<p>“I can’t involve my work in this. It’s…between me and Chimera.”</p>
<p>“What? You’re going <em>rogue</em>?” Curt was incredulous. Nobody smart and nobody good went rogue.</p>
<p>“I have no choice!”</p>
<p>“What do you mean, you don’t have a choice? What the hell could possibly convince you that you can’t trust your own Secret Service?”</p>
<p>Owen dragged his fingers through his hair. “Chimera has...something they’re holding over me. Information. I don’t know who I can trust.”</p>
<p>Curt raised his eyebrows skeptically. “What <em>kind</em> of information?”</p>
<p>“A secret.”</p>
<p>“What kind of secret?”</p>
<p>Owen turned away from Curt. “I can’t say.”</p>
<p>“If you want me to go you, I need to know everything.”</p>
<p>“Not this,” Owen protested, standing up quite suddenly.</p>
<p>"Don’t give me that. What do you need to hide so desperately from the world that you’d betray your own country for it?” Curt demanded.</p>
<p>“I can’t say!” He raised his voice and Curt flinched, his features hardening.</p>
<p>“Unless you’ve already betrayed your country.”</p>
<p>“I’m no traitor, Mega,” Owen said fiercely, starting to pace. Curt believed him.</p>
<p>“Then, what? Did you sleep with the enemy? Lose a nuclear bomb? Do you have a child?” Curt’s eyes went wide.</p>
<p>“No, nothing like that. You’re blowing this out of proportion.” Owen pressed his index finger to his forehead, rubbing his temple. It was a gesture unfamiliar to Curt. A habit acquired since he had left, perhaps. He felt the guilt again. <em>You abandoned </em>him<em>, not the other way around.</em></p>
<p>“Look Carvour, I’m not going to force it out of you. But I can’t fight alongside you unless I know the reason we’re fighting. Whatever it is, you know you can trust me.”</p>
<p>Owen had stopped pacing but refused to face him. Arms crossed, he stared at the wall in front of him, lost in thought.</p>
<p>Curt pursed his lips and turned back towards the kitchen. He meant only to get something to drink. It had been a long day, and this wasn’t helping his nerves.</p>
<p>“Curt, I’m homosexual.”</p>
<p>Curt stopped dead in his tracks, mouth slightly agape. He had never allowed himself to even consider that it was a possibility, that Owen was…like him.</p>
<p>“You can’t tell anyone, not a soul.”</p>
<p>There was a desperation, a vulnerability in his voice that he’d never heard before. Curt spun around, his face a mixture of surprise and concern. “I won’t tell, I swear.”</p>
<p>Owen didn’t look up. </p>
<p>“I came to you because this secret…it means I’m compromised. I’m a security risk to MI6. They just don’t know it yet. With this information, Chimera could ask me to do anything, and I’d have to betray my country or….or I’ll lose <em>everything</em>.”</p>
<p>“You wouldn’t lose me.”</p>
<p>Owen turned around, surprised. “You don’t think my preference for men is…perverted? Wrong?”</p>
<p>“No, NO,” he repeated with more conviction. “Owen, of course not.”</p>
<p>“You mean it?”</p>
<p>“I—yes, of course I mean it.” Curt searched his friend’s face, trying to decipher his thoughts. Owen wouldn’t quite meet his eye.</p>
<p>Curt fell back onto the couch, trying to sort through his thoughts. “How did they find out?”</p>
<p>“It’s my own damn fault,” Owen sighed, and stiffly took at seat on end of the couch furthest away from Curt.</p>
<p>“It was about a year ago. I had finished recovering, but they still wouldn’t put me back in the field and I was bored, reckless even. One day after work I went to closest pub I could find and got plastered. I had one drink, then another, then another. A handsome man at the bar started paying for my drinks. I lost count of how many. At the end of the night, I went home with him and we slept together.”</p>
<p>Curt raised his eyebrows. He’d barely kissed another man, let alone slept with one, and that had been ages ago.</p>
<p>“Chimera must have been trailing me. I don’t know how but they have <em>pictures</em>. I received copies of them last week through my mail slot with a note, threatening to share the photos and my identity with the world if I don’t comply with their demands. They said they'd <em>'be in touch'.”</em></p>
<p>Curt tried to ignore the blood rushing to his face at the thought of those pictures. Owen’s body spread bare across a bed...but the photos weren’t taken with consent. It was wrong. An incredible violation of privacy.</p>
<p>“I’m so sorry, Owen.”</p>
<p>Owen ran his fingers through his hair, pulling on the strands at the end. “They were looking for the chink in the armor, and it’s me. My job is all I have. If I lose it...I don’t know what I’d do with myself. That’s why I have to destroy Chimera, and I have to do it without involving MI6 or A.S.S.”</p>
<p>“If I’ve learned anything from early retirement, it’s that it’s not all it’s cracked up to be. If you want my help, you’ve got it.”</p>
<p>“Thanks, old chap.” Owen fell back against the couch, his shoulders looking less tense.  “And thank you for listening. I’ve been carrying that secret for twenty years. It feels good to finally tell somebody.”</p>
<p>“You’re not the only one with secrets,” Curt said absentmindedly.</p>
<p>“What?”</p>
<p>“I, uh, nothing.” He stood up, ears starting to burn. “I’m gonna fix some tea. You want tea? Brits love their tea, right?”</p>
<p>Owen gave pause and Curt tensed, waiting for him to question him.</p>
<p>“Yes,” he finally said, looking up and piercing Curt with his eyes. His smile was soft and genuine. “I’d love a cup of tea.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>wow! three chapters in three weeks and I'm sticking to an update schedule?? unheard of </p>
<p>i promise things will get better for these boys</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Lurking in the Shadows</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>ok in retrospect this chapter got a lot darker than I was expecting, and this fic is gonna b pretty angsty from here on out, SORRY IN ADVANCE</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <strong>City of Flossenburg, Germany, near the Czechoslovakian border – 1961</strong>
</p><p>“You know, I’m frankly surprised the Germans let you across the border with that thing.” Owen gestured to the folded paper in Curt’s pocket.</p><p>“What are you talking about?” He scoffed. “This passport could have fooled you.”</p><p>“Please, it looks like you drew the German seal with a crayon.”</p><p>“It was a colored pencil, thank you very much, and I don’t think you have room to talk since you misspelled ‘Deutschland’ on yours.”</p><p>“Shh.” Owen hissed, throwing his arm out in front of Curt and pushing them back against the wall.</p><p>A dog barked in the distance. They heard the putter of an engine nearing the corner and Curt stood perfectly still, trying his best to blend into the shadows and ignore the scratchy wool of Owen’s coat brushing his collarbone, the pressure of his arm holding him against the cold brick.</p><p>The car rounded the corner and continued down the street, the driver leaning out the window with a cigarette in his hand, listening to the radio.</p><p>“<em>Die Genfer Weltfriedensgala findet an diesem Wochenende statt. Diese hochkarätige Veranstaltung ist der erste öffentliche Auftritt von Prinz Feurgin seit seiner Taufe vor 18 Jahren.”</em></p><p>“World Peace Gala, nice.” Owen gave the other spy a knowing smile, and they stifled a laugh. Any event with the words ‘world’ and ‘peace’ in the title were usually anything but. Cynthia was known to attend them just to get the latest international gossip from foreign dignitaries.</p><p>Owen lowered his arm and they continued down the street. It was a rather boring looking housing development nestled into the side of a hill. The village itself was remote and hard to get to. Why on earth Chimera would build a base in the middle of nowhere in the mountains of Western Germany, Curt hadn’t a clue.</p><p>“What’s the address again?”</p><p>“1945 Langweilig Street. According to my intel, the front is a laundry business, and Chimera’s base was built into the ground underneath it.”</p><p>They turned the corner and at the end of the block, a wrought iron gate stood open, leading to a courtyard and several buildings. As they grew closer, Curt could make out a painted wooden sign that had been tacked upon the gate, partially obscuring the words shaped into the arch.</p><p>“Kitchens and laundry,” he read aloud. “Must be the place.”</p><p>“What’s that say underneath it? <em>Arbeit macht—” </em></p><p>Gazing up at the iron words, Curt didn’t realize that Owen had frozen in his tracks. He turned back around. Owen was staring at the archway with a malice he had never seen in him before.</p><p>“Owen? My German’s pretty shoddy, what does it say?”</p><p>“’Arbeit macht frei.’” He replied, his voice hushed. “’Work sets you free.’”</p><p>Curt frowned, not understanding.</p><p>“This is, or at least was, a concentration camp.”</p><p>His eyes widened. “You don’t think Chimera is in it with the Nazis?”</p><p>Owen clenched his jaw and shook his head. “I don’t know. But I’m sure as hell about to find out.”</p><p>Hand on his gun, Curt followed Owen under the gate and into the courtyard. The largest building had a hand-painted sign on one door that read “Laundry,” and they skirted the shadows, circling towards it.</p><p>Owen raised two fingers and Curt stopped behind him.</p><p>“Are we busting down the front door?”</p><p>Owen surveyed the entrance in front of them. “Normally I would propose picking the lock rather than busting through the hinges, but considering they’re Nazis…”</p><p>Several minutes and one less deadbolt later, they were inside the laundry building.</p><p>Once inside, they moved swiftly through the rooms, and Curt tried to block out the permeating smells of bleach and mildew. One room had bolts along the walls above the sinks, and he tried not to think about what purpose those must have served, the people who had been forced to labor away in this very building.</p><p>As they passed down a hallway, Owen paused and looked to the wall on their right. Cabinets lined the length of the wall, from floor to ceiling.</p><p>“Do you feel that draft?” Owen started opening the cabinets, finding only various linens and chemical cleaners.</p><p>"It's coming from one of these closets. Damning evidence of a secret tunnel if I've ever seen one."</p><p>"Secret tunnel, huh?" Curt opened the cabinet closest to him.</p><p>All he could see were sheets stacked on shelves, but unlike the other closets, a chain hung from the ceiling, attached to a bare bulb. “Are there lights in any of the rest of those?”</p><p>Owen poked his head out from behind a cabinet door. “No, why do you ask?”</p><p>He pulled on the chain.</p><p>The lightbulb stayed dark. Owen finished what he was doing and joined Curt, peering over his shoulder.</p><p>Curt tugged on the cord again, harder this time, and something clicked, but the lightbulb still remained unlit. He reached up to twist the bulb, and as he did so, he leaned against the shelves for balance. To his surprise, he felt the wall give way on itself, and before he could do anything, his foot slipped, and he was falling.</p><p>For a moment he had an intense feeling of déjà vu.</p><p>Then a hand grasped his flailing arm and he was jerked back, colliding against something hard, and wooden, and painful. His shoulder felt like it was about to pop out of his socket.</p><p>“Ow ow ow, FUCK ME.”</p><p>Owen grunted, bracing himself against the doorframe as he held up Curt’s entire weight. Curt scrambled to get his footing. His foot landed on a something solid, and as he regained his balance and took stock of his whereabouts, he realized he now clung to a wooden ladder that descended below him.</p><p>“It’s ok, you can let go now.”</p><p>Owen let go of his arm and he grimaced as he held on to the ladder.</p><p>“You all right?”</p><p>“Yeah,” he groaned, rotating his shoulder to test it. “Fine.”</p><p>“Can you see what’s down there?”</p><p>Curt glanced down. “Just pitch darkness as far as I can see.”</p><p>Owen disappeared from view and he heard rummaging above him. Several moments later, a circle of yellow light was blinding him.</p><p>“I remembered seeing a torch in the kitchen.”</p><p>“You mean a flashlight?” Curt grumbled, raising his hand to shield his eyes.</p><p>“Whatever you Americans like to call it,” Owen replied, a hint of a smile in his voice.</p><p>He shone the light downwards, and found himself in a wide, wooden shaft. The ladder ended about fifteen feet down and seemed to open up to a wider space.</p><p>“I’m going down.”</p><p>He descended and landed lightly on his feet, weapon already drawn. He found himself in a narrow hallway, lined with red emergency lights that shone just bright enough to see where he was going. A slight, musty draft emanated from further down the tunnel.</p><p>Owen stepped off the ladder behind him. Guns drawn, they followed the dim red lights into the narrowing darkness.</p><p>Curt coughed. “Thanks, by the way, for catching me.”</p><p>Owen nodded. “I just did what I’ve been trained to do. In the moment, I didn’t even think.”</p><p>Curt spared a glance at his partner. Even here, walking down this grimy tunnel underneath a Nazi concentration camp, he was alert and focused, flashlight drawn and illuminating his face in a gentle glow.</p><p>The beams of the flashlight flashed over the edge of doorframe, recessed into the wall. The label on the door said simply, ‘Files.’ The window set into the door was cracked and dusty, but Curt brushed a hole in the dust with his sleeve and peered inside.</p><p>“Looks like a storage room. There’s just a bunch of file cabinets, marked with…” He stopped midsentence as he realized what he was looking at.</p><p>“Nevermind, it’s not what we’re looking for.”</p><p>Owen gave him a questioning look. “What do you mean it’s not what we’re looking for? Anything could be useful.”</p><p>Curt reluctantly stepped aside and Owen shone the flashlight into the room.</p><p>“Oh.”</p><p>The file cabinets were meticulously labeled, organized, and color coded. <em>Jews. Communists. Criminals. </em>There was a pink triangle on a number of cabinets. <em>Homosexuals, A-F. Homosexuals, G-M.</em></p><p>Owen was still staring through the window. Curt reached for his free hand and tugged on it.</p><p>He looked over at him.</p><p>“Let’s keep going.”</p><p>Owen nodded, and stepped away from the door. He squeezed Curt’s hand gently, then let go.</p><p>Curt’s mind wandered as they walked. He had known, of course, that men like him had been arrested, brutalized, tortured by the Nazis in World War II. But reading about it in the papers, and seeing evidence of it with his own eyes, were two different things.</p><p><em>Homosexuals</em>, <em>A-F</em>.</p><p>How many tens of thousands of people had passed through this camp? How many of them gay men who never got the chance to leave?</p><p>Nobody knew that Curt wasn’t straight. Nobody alive, at least.</p><p>There had been a boy, once. A friend of a friend, in high school. They’d met at a party, smoked a bit, flirted a bit, drank a bit more. At the end of the night, they snuck out the back door and kissed for an hour in the bushes behind the pool house.</p><p>Curt had been worried sick for the next two weeks. He couldn’t remember the boy’s name, and he didn’t know if the other boy was like him, or if he had just been drunk. One morning, he woke up and saw an article in the morning paper. <em>Local teen dies in drunk driving accident, family and friends mourn.</em></p><p>“It’s such a shame,” his mother had said. “He’s right around your age. I bet he had a long and promising life ahead of him.”</p><p>Curt didn’t recognize the name in the paper, but he could never forget the boy’s face, the feel of his lips, the taste of his tongue in his mouth, the heat of their bodies pressed together in the cool night air.</p><p>The shock and sadness of knowing that another boy’s life had been extinguished was nothing compared to the guilt he felt because he was more relieved that his secret was safe.</p><p>When he started to spy, he’d kept his head down on the job. But slowly, he learned. How to flirt with the right women, how to use his charm to make people talk. His added value to Cynthia, though she didn’t know it, was that he wasn’t at risk of falling in love with any of the women he wooed. They were just pieces in the game.</p><p>Then Owen had showed up.</p><p>It was supposed to be a pretty easy mission. Infiltrate a big gala in Cairo, gain access to the hotel room of one of the guests, the daughter of an Egyptian millionaire with ties to some organization that Curt couldn’t even remember the name of. Steal an envelope she had in her possession. Easy peasy, grab and go.</p><p>The problem had arisen when they had finally gotten to her room, his left hand pulling down the zipper of her dress in the hallway as she clung to him, tipsy and giggling. He had just opened the door and was about to pull his gun on her and ransack the room. Instead, when they flipped on the lights, Owen had been sitting politely on the bed, aiming his own gun with a silencing attachment at them.</p><p>“What’s putting that smile on your face in a place like this?”</p><p>Curt looked up, scattering his thoughts, and bringing him back to the present. His face became somber again. “Just got lost in thought,” he said.</p><p>They had traveled deeper into the tunnel, and though no other hallways had branched off to suggest they we’re getting anywhere, it felt like they must be close.</p><p>“Owen, wait.”</p><p>Curt stopped walking, and the British spy turned to look at him. “Yes, love?”</p><p>It felt like his stomach flipped over inside of him. He nervously ran his fingers through his hair.</p><p>“Look, before we do this, I want to be honest with you, because I wasn’t, before.”</p><p>Owen’s face was difficult to read, so he looked instead at the spot on the wall to the right of Owen’s ear.</p><p>“You’re a great spy, and I admire your courage a lot.” He could feel his ears burning, so he pushed on before he could stop himself.</p><p>“I admire you because you came out to me, and that’s something that I never had the courage to do…with you, or with anyone.”</p><p>“What are you saying?” Owen’s voice was soft, and he hazarded a look at his eyes. In the darkness, they reflected only the glowing red emergency lights and the glare from the flashlight.</p><p>“I’m…That is I—I like men.”</p><p>Owen’s eyebrows must have raised an inch. “You—you do?”</p><p>He bit his lip and nodded. “I just thought you deserved to know.”</p><p>Owen smiled. “I’m happy to know you trust me, old chap.”</p><p>He gave a small smile.</p><p>“Now, let’s go kill some Nazis.”</p><p>Less than a minute later, they came around a bend and found themselves in an intersection. Owen flashed the light down the left tunnel, illuminating a caved-in passage-way. The path straight ahead was pitch black. Curt could have sworn he saw a glimmer of light bouncing down the walls, but it must have been a trick of the light. To the right, fluorescent lights illuminated a tiled floor leading to a pair of double doors, through which they could make out what looked like a fully functional laboratory.</p><p>“To the right it is,” he said.</p><p>They burst through the doors, guns drawn, but it was deserted. The room was large and filled with bookshelves. But instead of books, the shelves were lined with dozens of machines, tiny lights flashing. A steady drone buzzed in Curt’s ears, filling the room.</p><p>Owen disappeared around a shelf and emerged a second later, beckoning Curt.</p><p>He followed him into a side room, a dark office, closing the door behind them. Nazi memorabilia hung all around them. A giant red and black banner bearing the swastika draped the wall behind a large mahogany desk.</p><p>Given how far underground they were, the room was surprisingly luxurious.</p><p>“I don’t know whether this bastard is more in love with the Führer or with himself,” said Owen, shining the flashlight at a large oil painting of a thin mustached man posed dramatically atop a horse in military regalia. A glint of light flashed for just a second.</p><p>“Wait, shine the light back on the painting,” said Curt, moving closer to examine it. There it was, again. The reflection of light off a particularly shiny section of the painting, right over the buttons on the Nazi’s coat. <em>Was that glitter?</em> Curt ran his fingers over the paint and detected a slight groove in the canvas. He pushed, and with a click, the painting dislodged from the wall, swinging open on hidden hinges.</p><p>“Nice find,” breathed Owen, leaning over his shoulder as Curt moved it aside to reveal a safe. He tried to ignore the shivers that ran down his neck at their proximity.</p><p>He knelt down, pulling a handkerchief out of his pocket before examining the lock. Best not to leave prints if Chimera had as many connections as he assumed they probably did. It was a circular combination lock, reset to zero by whoever had last touched it.</p><p>“Easy enough,” he reassured himself out loud.</p><p>He put his ear to the lock and started twisting the dial. His breath caught in his throat, he rotated it slowly until he heard the faint click of the first pin.</p><p>“Two.”</p><p>He rotated it again, hearing the second click.</p><p>“Eighteen,” said Owen.</p><p>He reversed the direction, and almost immediately, he heard the final click.</p><p>“Fifteen.”</p><p>He pulled on the door and his partner shined the light on its contents.</p><p>“Bro,” he exhaled, eyes wide.</p><p>“Talk about hidden Nazi treasure,” said Owen, giving a soft whistle.</p><p>The rectangular safe contained a dozen or more gold bricks, a stack of papers that looked suspiciously like weapons blueprints, and a strange, plastic square with a circular hole in the middle.</p><p>Curt pulled it out carefully, holding it by one corner with the handkerchief, expecting it to be rigid. Instead, it drooped in his hand. He stared at it, perplexed.</p><p>“What the hell is this?”</p><p>“It’s a floppy disk,” said Owen. “They store information. This single piece of plastic might be more valuable than the rest of the contents of that safe combined.”</p><p>Curt looked at him doubtfully, ready with another remark about <em>technology these days,</em> but the thought was struck from his mind as he heard the echo of footsteps and the unmistakable sound of a door opening and shutting. Someone had just entered the lab.</p><p>“Just grab it and let’s go,” Owen hissed, jumping behind the doorframe, gun at the ready.</p><p>Hastily, he shoved the floppy disk and his handkerchief into the inner breast pocket of his coat, closed the safe, and pushed the painting back into place.</p><p>They could hear someone humming a lively song in the other room. Then, to Curt’s surprise, there was the sound of the door opening and closing again, and the tap of high heels on tile.</p><p>“Doctor Baron von Nazi,” a woman said with a heavy accent. “We meet at last.”</p><p>Curt exchanged a look with Owen, who mouthed <em>Russians</em>.</p><p>“Ahh, Tatiana, a pleasure to finally meet you, too, though I must say, I didn’t expect to see you here, in the heart of Mein Führer’s homeland.”</p><p>The woman scoffed. “The heart? We are high in the mountains, and deep underground. There is no person here who is loyal to the Führer, and there is no body here who will hear you scream.”  </p><p>There was a crash, and a whimper, and Curt peeked out the small office window to see that the Russian spy had jumped the Nazi, who was now lying on the floor, looking rather pathetic. She was holding a gun to his head, and he had his hands in the air.</p><p>“Where is it?” She demanded, prodding his pockets, and giving a frustrated groan when her hand emerged covered in glitter. “What is this shit? Where is the book?”</p><p>The Nazi laughed, even as she grabbed a fistful of his shirt and pulled him towards her.</p><p>“Where is it?” She slapped him across the face.</p><p>Gingerly, he raised a hand to his cheek, testing the skin, then looked up at her, grinning maliciously.</p><p>“You really think I would keep it here? With me? Your book of sins? Oh no, Tatiana,” he tsked at her, and she let him go, gun pointed at his head, but looking less certain of herself. “It is far away, far from you or I. Funny that its reach is still so big, hmm?”</p><p>“You bastard. ”</p><p>Her resolve was breaking.</p><p>“Don’t worry, I wouldn’t share its contents,” he crooned at her. His gaze hardened. “As long as you continue to do your job, that is. It would be a shame if the Kennedy’s received a copy in the mail. It would be an even bigger shame if your little sister found out what you really do when you’re ‘<em>away on business</em>.’ Kill me here, and there are…how do the Americans say…dominos in place to make sure that your secrets will not be secrets for very much longer.”</p><p>She let her arm fall to her side and von Nazi got to his feet. Gently, he cupped her cheek. “Now, now child, do not look so glum, I am sure we both can come to an agreement.”</p><p>Tatiana moved so fast Curt almost missed it, but one second von Nazi’s hand was stroking her face, and the next he was groaning and clutching his wrist.</p><p>“Do not dare to touch me ever again,” she hissed.</p><p>“You will pay for this, Tati,” he gasped, glaring at her.</p><p>“No,” she said. “I will do what you require, and nothing more. This will be my last mission, you understand? </p><p>The man did not answer right away, bracing himself on the wall and breathing heavily.</p><p>"What does Chimera want from me?”</p><p>Von Nazi smiled, and pulled a piece of paper from his coat pocket.</p><p>“Chimera needs the signatures of the Prussian government for the rights to this plot of land. Use any means necessary.”</p><p>Tatiana took the paper between her thumb and index finger, looking at it with distaste.</p><p>“You have until two weeks from now. It is the final piece in order for Chimera to enter the next phase of our global outreach. Do not fail.”</p><p>"I will do what is required."</p><p>Without another word, she spun on her heel and walked out of the lab.</p><p>The Doctor smirked, watching her leave, then turned and walked into his office.</p><p>It was really his own fault he didn’t see the butt of Curt’s pistol coming.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Notes: the radio said “The Geneva World Peace Gala is being held this weekend. This high profile event marks the first public appearance of Prince Feurgin since his baptism 18 years ago.” I just google translated it so apologies to any German-speaking folks.</p><p>Also, the concentration camp at Flossenburg is real, though there obviously isn't a secret Chimera base underneath.  Almost 100,000 people passed through Flossenburg between 1938 and 1945 and an estimated 30% of them died. After the war, the city just built a housing development over parts of the concentration camp, and the former prisoner laundry and kitchen were used commercially until the 1990's.</p>
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